


Dutch Courage

by Zigadenus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 11:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12726066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zigadenus/pseuds/Zigadenus
Summary: Professor Snape summons his muse to enact a cunning plan, and ends up discovering that he possesses an attractive quality after all.  Fluffy one-shot with few redeeming features, and even less plot.





	Dutch Courage

**Author's Note:**

> I dashed this off in the comments section of my LiveJournal last night, and it is reproduced here because who ever reads my LJ? The context is that **braye27** wished me luck on my marking, and said _"I'm imagining you and Snape sitting in the staff room and dashing red ink left, right, and center while you take turns making funny and insulting remarks about your students."_
> 
> To which I responded: _"Hah, not on your life. I'd teach him the staircase method, pour him a tall G &T, make him down it at wandpoint, and then send him off in search of that swot Granger. He'd barely even have to try to chat her up, just ask for a book rec. "_

Lucius Malfoy had once entertained him with an exceedingly snobbish lecture on how to judge a wine: its legs, its balance, its aroma or bouquet -- and yes they were apparently different things -- and after he'd ruined 'red or white?' for Severus, he'd gone on to do the same for whiskey. And whisky. And so Severus was fully apprised of the proper way to drink it ("with a splash of water, so you can actually _taste_ it, my good man!"), and thus had no desire to do so, at least not in civilized company, because he'd be sure to get it wrong. Who would have thought there'd be so much to learn about getting pissed?  
  
In a fit equal parts desperation and deviltry, he'd turned to long, cool Narcissa, and asked, "And what's your preference?" He was only trying to include her in the conversation. Or you could argue that, anyway.  
  
She'd blinked those dangerous eyelids once, slowly. "A gin and tonic. Because I'm proper English."  
  
And hadn't that shut Lucy up?  
  
It was one of his fondest memories, and he dragged it out to chortle over whenever he was about to embark on something stupid or terrifying or both. It was like Dutch courage. Better than that, even, he tells himself firmly, as he takes a deep breath and shoves open the door to the staff room.  
  
She never did her marking there. It might've been nice if she had. He'd have had something to talk to her about: "How's your dunderhead quota this week?" or "Do you ever feel completely ineffective as a human being? I do, all the time, because no matter what I try, their scores never improve."  
  
But no. Nothing easy like that. No, instead what she did in the staff room was _read_. It was infuriating and useless and utterly hopeless, because there was no way this side of Hades or Hell that she'd thank him interrupting her leisure pursuits.  
  
But damn it, something had to give. And so he summons up Narcissa's casual disregard for propriety (and wasn't that the height of class and ostentation? Knowing that you could get away with anything?), and throws himself into the armchair opposite Professor Granger. "You're here every Saturday evening."  
  
"Because no one else is, generally."  
  
Well that was nice to learn, that he registered as _no one_. He can feel his spine tensing, ready for a defensive strike, but no. Narcissa would _never_. So instead he steeples his hands beneath his chin and gazes at her, long and solemnly, until she sets her book aside.  
  
"Yes, and?"  
  
"Did you want to come down to the village, and get a pint?" Urgh, that hadn't been smooth. Though, it had been proper English. So there was that much.  
  
"I suppose the rest of the Staff are down there."  
  
Yes, probably. "And that matters precisely why?" Nonchalance. He does not give a fuck, who sees him drinking with Granger.  
  
"Well, I suppose it doesn't. Alright then, let me fetch my cloak."  
  
It's too cold to talk while they're walking down to the gates, and this is a very good thing. It gives him time to think through the next step of his plan, because he really should have one of those. It is lucky that he's already Head of Slytherin, because this oversight on his part would surely disqualify him if he had to justify why he ought to be styled thus.  
  
The only table that shows any evidence of being free is rather closer to the Staff than he's entirely comfortable with, but Narcissa would never even deign to notice these lower lifeforms, so he ignores them as well, and sets a frothy pint in front of his colleague. "So tell me," he says, seating himself opposite her, "What do you think of this year's Booker contenders?"  
  
And she's off. So compelling is the flush of pleasure in her cheeks, and the glint of enthusiasm in her eyes, as she expounds her various opinions, that he entirely forgets that the Staff is present. So dead is he to the world and circumstance that Rosie has to literally knock her knuckles on the table between them to get his attention.  
  
"I'd like to close up, sometime tonight," she informs them.  
  
Professor Granger laughs. It catches him in his midsection like a physical blow, but he covers it by hurrying into his coat, and casting about for the mitten she suddenly cannot find. They stumble into the snow, and she's still laughing. This heady-unsteady feeling cannot possibly be the ale; they've only accounted for a couple pints over twice that many hours.  
  
And yet he does walk up to the castle in a bit of a fog. She doesn't suggest they apparate, and he's not about to cut this evening short, either.  
  
But things do come to an end. Inevitably.  
  
They part ways in the Great Hall, he off to the dank and drafty dungeons, and she to the soaring heights of Gryffindor Tower. He makes it about five steps, before she calls out: "Severus!"  
  
She darts back, and he has no idea what to do. Fortunately, it appears he is not required to do anything other than turn on his heel to face her, as she tips up on her toes and presses a kiss into the corner of his mouth. "Thanks for a lovely evening. It's a real rarity to find someone who actually doesn't mind listening to me."  
  
_fin_.


End file.
